


Regrets Of The World Weary

by Danruu



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, M/M, past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:29:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3292052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danruu/pseuds/Danruu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the capture of Samson at the Arbor Wilds, Cullen must face up to his past. (Rating subject to change)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regrets Of The World Weary

**Author's Note:**

> My Dragon Age Big Bang fic... now no longer for the DABB. 
> 
> I've had this in my head since I played the game for the first time, so this is going to take a while to make sure I do it justice... As it stands I hate the first half of this chapter, but ah well. Scene setting. 
> 
> Samson/Cullen is mostly past relationship, implied one-sided-Cullen/Trevelyan later on.

From the moment he had seen him on that mountain, far away but still so recognisable, his image had been seared into Cullen’s mind as surely as a tranquil brand. It had plagued him throughout their escape, even as he had agonised over the fate of the Herald, even as he had guided the people of Haven to safety, he had been thinking about it. Him. Samson. Seeing him again. In all honesty Cullen hadn’t spared a thought to Samson in a long time, as sure as the rest of his life in Kirkwall; he had left the memories of Samson all behind too. He had never expected to see him there. Not beside that... that creature.

 

Samson’s monsters had not beaten them. They escaped, they rebuilt, they now had a fortress he couldn’t hope to best. But even that wasn’t enough for Cullen. His dreams, as tortured as they already were, now twisted into shapes of the Red Templars, men and women from his past appearing as grotesque versions of themselves. And Samson. Samson’s red-rimmed eyes boring a hole into his very soul.

 

The anger Cullen felt burned inside him as sure as the red lyrium burned the men Samson had allowed to be so mutilated. Every piece of information they gained only fuelled the fire in Cullen’s gut, the more they learned of what had happened at Therinfall Redoubt, the more he despised the man he had once called friend. Samson was a monster as sure as Corypheus and his Archdemon.

 

It had been more selfish than he cared to admit to send the Inquisitor out to intercept the smugglers, then again to the mines in Emprise de Lion. The obsession gnawed at him like the lyrium withdrawal, waking him in pools of cold sweat as he went over and over the events of Kirkwall and Haven in his mind. Cullen hated him. Samson was a monster. That was all there was to it. At least that’s what he told himself over and over again. It was easier than dealing with any of the other feelings hiding just under the surface. Hating was easier.

 

Then Cullen met Maddox. And things weren’t so simple again.

 

But Cullen had come too far to stop now; he couldn’t even if he wanted to, couldn’t let the Inquisitor see that he was faltering in the face of his past. Things moved faster than he could keep up with. Plans were made, and they marched. The battle gave him something else to focus on, it was a blessed relief.  

 

And although he fought outside the Temple in the Arbor Wilds, he did not enter it. He knew Samson would be in there, he didn’t want to see the Inquisitor kill him. Cullen was weak, and he knew it. He’d barely beaten the addiction; he didn’t think he could manage anything else.

 

Which was why when the Scout approached him, he felt his vision blur before he realised it.

 

“The Inquisitor didn’t kill Samson. She’s bringing him to Skyhold for judgment.”

 

*

 

The guard had been reluctant to allow Cullen entry into the cells under Skyhold at all, and when Cullen had asked to be left alone with the prisoner and to be given a key to his cell he had been sure the guard was going to run straight to the Inquisitor. It had taken a pointed glare from the Commander before the guard finally been convinced and sloped off to stand outside instead. Cullen had never experienced that kind of mistrust from his men before, but everyone knew that Cullen had known their newest prisoner back in Kirkwall, and with Samson in the Keep everyone was on edge.

 

Cullen didn’t know why he was here really, or what good it would do. He’d been informed that Samson was still unconscious, so it wasn’t as if he was going to get a conversation from the man. He was fairly certain he didn’t _want_ to have a conversation with him, but he still wanted to see him. A sleepless night of waiting had brought him here, and now he stood outside his cell feeling more tired than ever.

 

Samson was indeed lying motionless on the rickety cot in the cell, so still that for a moment Cullen wasn’t sure he was even still alive. That would be typical wouldn’t it? All that effort to bring him here for him to just die before they’d even had a chance to judge him. Cullen still wasn’t sure why the Inquisitor had chosen to spare Samson’s life at the Temple. He had a feeling it was because of him, though he hadn’t yet asked her. Perhaps she just wanted Samson’s death to be witnessed by more than just her companions? She was political when she had to be.

 

Cullen sighed, shivering a little against the cold. He was about to leave when he noticed that Samson had no blankets on him, and swore quietly under his breath. There was no way the man would make it to judgment at all if he froze to death in the damned cells. He unlocked the door without a second thought, and it was only when he stepped into the small cell was he hit with a sudden wave of apprehension.

 

He hadn’t seen Samson up close since Kirkwall, and he stood there for a moment just looking. The man had always been pale, the dark circles were ever-present, but now his skin looked paper thin and sickly, his eyes more hollowed than ever. His hair was thinning, but still as jet black as the day Cullen had met him ten years ago. Samson had been a handsome man once, in his own way, roguish and with a crooked smile that lit up his eyes. Now Cullen was just glad his eyes stayed firmly shut.

 

“Maker he must be freezing...” Cullen mumbled to himself. Before he even realised what he was doing he was reaching out to touch the other man’s face, but when his fingers brushed his forehead he pulled back sharply. Samson was burning hot to the touch, like putting his hand in a flame. Cullen frowned as he steeled himself and put a hand on the man’s forehead, and then moved down to his bared forearm. Samson really was like a furnace, unnaturally warm to the touch.

 

Red lyrium. Of course it was. Cullen pulled away with disgust, a sickening mix of pity and anger curling in his gut. What a fool Samson was. What a damned fool. The man was shifting a little; the cool touches had brought him closer to waking.

 

Cullen didn’t stay any longer; he locked the cell door behind him before heading back up to the courtyard. As he passed the guard he saw someone else standing outside, leaning against the wall. Waiting patiently for him as if she had all the time in the world, as if they weren’t still hunting Corypheus, trying to piece the world back together. 

 

“Don’t. Don’t say a word.” Cullen said, not even able to meet the Inquisitor’s eyes. He didn’t want to see her concerned expression. He knew she was worrying about him, but he couldn’t let her. Not over something like this. It was too complicated, and if she pulled at a single thread the whole thing might well unravel. Cullen couldn’t allow that, he already felt exhausted enough holding everything together after the Arbor Wilds.

 

“Forgive me.” He sighed, and turned to walk back to his office.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at: http://stripeydani.tumblr.com/


End file.
